Breaking Point
by Enchanting Grace
Summary: Russia is locked up in an asylum to recover from his wearing mental state. He comes to the conclusion that he never did the acts that transpired under the Soviet Union. A body cursed with having two souls: Russia and Soviet-is what he believes. He wasn't the crazy,dangerous,or insane child as they say he was. It was Soviet, not him! All he needs now are the others to believe him...
1. Cold

*Warnings: * mentions of suicidal feelings. Also, I tried to make the flow quite jumbled to match Russia's state of mind.

* * *

Another restless night, and yet another day...

Russia sighed heavily, feeling the emptiness eat at his heart. It was slowly wearing away at him, eroding him and his emotions until he barely felt anything. What was it like to smile? Could he remember how to laugh? The memories of the past where he felt happy and motivated and even hopeful were nothing but what they were; reminiscences. Often, he dreamt of those times, and for the briefest of moments could empathize, could actually feel those long-lost feelings that didn't seem real to him anymore... yet upon waking, and remembering, they melted into nothing, as though never there in the first place.

Two years had passed since That Day. Two long years, where the colors slowly began to fade, and the passion began to depart. It felt as though a life time had passed during that period of time, yet also at the same time it felt as though it only just happened, and the scene was re-enacting itself in his head, around and around, becoming stronger and more prominent with each replay, lost in shock and burning with guilt.

He closed his violet eyes tight, and took a deep breath.

He wouldn't cry.

Yet even as he told himself that, the familiar sensation of an obtrusive lump was forming at the back of his throat, and the tingling in his eyes only made him want to hate himself more. Weak. So weak. The emptiness began to fill with the almost even more unbearable cocktail of shame, guilt, sadness, longing... and he couldn't breathe. He was suffocating within the pool of his own emotions, and underneath his eyelashes liquid began to seep out. His lips trembled, and Russia bit down hard, hard enough to draw blood.

No. He mustn't. Not again.

What would Soviet say if he could see him now, on the verge of tears, shaking under the sheer force of his tumbling emotions and ready to do what he was taught never to perform? Would he delight in the torment that he caused me? Or would he keep his distance, glaring pensively, and carefully conducting his next move from afar, like so many times before? His hand had the burning itch again, and he clenched it tight close, his blunt fingernails digging into his hard, tender flesh. Soviet would be ashamed, and he couldhear his voice, disappointed, humiliated and disgusted at having such a weakling as a brother stating "Happiness was your downfall."

The unheard accusation haunted him.

He couldn't take it anymore.

Each day he was constantly reminded of his mishap. Every night he was plagued by dreams, memories, flash backs and made up creations of similar scenarios. There was no escape, he had no way out. Two years... two years of self-torture, of overpowering agony, of remembrance... any normal man would have cracked under the pressure and have lost themselves by now, yet Russia wasn't any ordinary man. He was a nation. He was a country. He was a monster... and he was a murderer.

And yet, was it really, he who tormented the Baltics? Was it him who ravaged the helpless lands of the weaker nations, waiting to strip their freedom away? He had tried to convince them that it wasn't him who did the deeds; that it was his brother Soviet Union. But just as times before, they saw him in me, and fearfully, kept their distance.

How could his innocent younger sister stand to worship him the way that she did? Such admiration was easily mistaken for adoration of her elder brother. How could his mother, the late Kievan Rus, dare to still smile down at him with he caring love in her eyes? How could his friends – no, his acquaintances – still greet Russia with the same warmth and pride in them voices? How could they bare to even visit him anymore, concern and worry painted on the edge of their smiles? He destroyed the most important person in this World to them. He didn't listen. He had laughed, /laughed/, at the forthcoming danger until realization and rationality kicked him, screaming in his face, but by then it was too late; a few crucial seconds, but ones that cost him everything... and his traitorous mind reminded him of that fact persistently.

Russia found himself snorting.

They called his one-track mind "obsessive thoughts." And when he awoke during the night, screaming with tears glazing his face, somebody held him down. He was stronger than they were, physically... but emotionally, he was drained, and frail. It slowly sapped at his energy until he could manage no more than the rare nod at his family and friends when they wasted some of their precious time to visit him. It had decreased, recently, and soon Russia was left in his room, staring at the bare ceiling, staring into the eyes of his brother... before they vanished with a flash of light. His own cry echoed in his head.

They got people in to try to talk to him. They tried to help. They tried to ease his whirlwind of emotions.

He wanted to blow them up.

What could they understand? What could they do to help somebody as evil as him?

There was no point in talking to them.

His "brother's friends" and his sisters attempted to do what the professionals could not; it was just as pointless. They wouldn't understand either. Nobody could. Nobody would. How might they when he did not?

All he knew was that there was endless pain... endless pain, unimaginable feelings and they tumbled into a black hole of numb. The

irony didn't amuse him. Nothing did. He couldn't smile. He couldn't laugh. Yet he could cry. Sometimes he didn't even realize. It was only when Ukraine's voice came through the intercom, full of concern, did he realize that his eyes were streaming, his chest was heaving, and sobs replaced his unsaid begs of "help me".

Help. Help. Help.

Help me forget.

Help me escape.

Help me feel normal.

Help me make it stop.

Help me make him go away!

He could feel him now, touching him. He could smell him. He could feel the warmth of his heavy hand, and the bruises that it was causing. He could feel sharp nails digging into his flesh. At the beginning, it would come and go... yet as time passed, as the two long years passed, it didn't. It grew heavier, and heavier. It would leave for seconds before returning and the sensation of his collar bone being crushed made him wince. Often the pain blinded him and he would scream into the night, thrashing and trying to ease the hand off, begging and pleading, apologizing over and over as tears spilled from his panicked and glazed eyes.

More than once, America had to go into the room and secure Russia down as he tried to calm him with light pictures of sunflowers. He'd yell over Russia's bellows, he'd get bruised by his flying fists, but these fits only lasted a few tense dangerous minutes. Afterwards, the nation would be in a ball, trembling, muttering under his breath as a robotic caretaker injected his dotted arm with a strong sedative.

With the slightest of trembles, Russia raised his hand and lightly touched the one that was on his shoulder. It was starting to become painful, yet it could never rival the guilt settled deep within his very soul. Tears had damped his face, and blood dribbled down his chin from his abused lip. He looked pathetic. He acted pathetic.

No wonder Soviet hated him.

No wonder everybody had locked him up.

They visited him, yes; quite often, in fact. But it didn't change the fact that he was locked within a specially built padded room conjoining with the sanctuary room, with cameras watching him and a robot which injected him when he felt a little more emotional than normal. It was stupid. He didn't belong here. He wasn't crazy. He was guilty. He was lonely. He was full of self-loathing, and maybe he had done a few stupid things in the past years... but that didn't give his family and their friends the right to lock him up!

Yet maybe it did. It was his own prison. He was being punished for being a murderer. He knew Soviet personally saw to that and his friends, deep down, did too.

He didn't know what to think or believe anymore.

All he knew was that there was pain. There was emptiness. There was The Hand... Soviet... and the painful release that had been taken away from him.

Except...

Slowly and deliberately, making sure that he was facing the camera, Russia slowly reached upwards to his scarf. His joints creaked from lack of use, but soon the scarf was stretching and pulsating in rhythm with his heart. It illuminated his flat eyes, and his pale gaunt face. All he had to do was wrap it around himself and it would all be over. It would all be over. There would be nothing. He would be sent to nothingness after his death, due to suicide. No meadow of bright sunflowers. No hell. Just nothingness. It would almost be like what things were now; dreary, dull, lifeless... only nobody would be able to stop him should he want to self-destruct.

Yet it wouldn't happen.

Russia could hear America approaching his 'special room', no doubt preparing to hold Russia down to prevent a suicide attempt. He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Nobody would leave him alone; his mother, his sisters, his father's friends, his mind, his thoughts... He wanted his solitude. He wanted his freedom. He wanted his control. He didn't want isolation. He didn't want to be stared at like a zoo animal. He didn't want pretense, nor fake smiles and promises that he would soon be okay.

Those damn psychiatrists and therapists knew nothing.

Nobody did.

Not even himself.

The door to his secure room opened, and Russia could hear America approaching. He kept his eyes locked on the scarf; would he dare...?

"Okay, Ivan. Put that away."

Why should he? Yet he obliged. "Can I go yet?" He asked monotonously.

"Not until you're well." America said. Russia stared back, unblinking, unmoving, and after a few tense moments America turned his back on the nation and swiftly walked back out, disappearing from view. He, along with everybody else, didn't know what to do or how to act around the broken nation; that was plainly obvious.

Russia knew the real reason he left: he didn't want Russia to see him cry. Even after all the wars, periods of mockery and self-proclaimed "hero phrases", America still had cared for him after all these years.

Smiling for only a brief moment, Russia wondered if someone did care. Even after his diagnosis of "insanity", they still came to him, checking if his "healing" would begin.

He chuckled- why would he need healing for a crime he did not commit? He chuckled bitterly, did they still not see Soviet? Did they still blame him for crimes he did not commit? For being framed by someone with the same face?

The hand on his shoulder tightened mockingly, and Russia gripped at it hard with a snarl. Of course, Soviet would still taunt him; it was all he had been doing since his Fall.

Maybe one day they will know the truth about Soviet. Russia was not Soviet, but only a prisoner trapped by him, just as the Soviet countries were.

Perhaps one day they will join together and testify that he was right all along. Until that day, they will all join me da?

* * *

 ***A/N: ***

 **Hello. Welcome to my new story, Breaking Point! In this story, I highlight an asylum-placed Russia, who believes in quite conflicting views. In this story, he believes that he was not Soviet Union, but rather that Soviet Union is his own personification and separate from the personification of The Russian Federation.**

 **Russia is a complex character to write about and it is no easy feat to tackle.** **My head cannon is that Soviet was an actual personification, who manifested himself as Russia, framing him for the crimes he had committed. When Soviet 'died', 'Russia's mental state spiraled downward.**

 **When he tried to tell the other countries that Soviet was not him, they did not believe him, and instead placed him into an asylum, fearing he would be a danger to himself and the other countries.**

 **As the story progresses, we truly peak into the mental state of Russia.**

 **I invite you to read my story and hopefully look into Russia's mindset. Have a good evening!**

 **~Enchanting Grace**


	2. Descent

_The smell was in the air._

 _Spoiled. Taint. Rank._

 _The smell of death._

 _He knew it by heart. The crumbling, decomposition of flesh as it seared painfully off a person's body. The screams mixed in with the smell._

 _It always left its imprint inside his nostrils. Days could pass but the stench never went away. It was always there, tickling his senses. Making him recall what had caused said scent._

 _He had never gotten used to it. Never liked it._

 _As a child, he always distanced himself from it. Sometimes, he even tried to stop it. But only afterward. Only when he was alone and no one could see his weakness. When no one could see him cry._

 _Ironically, no matter how much he detested the odor, he could not get away from it. He had been trained from birth to become accustomed to it. And, with so much first-hand experience, he should have gotten used to it. He should have even grown to love it, as his other superiors had._

 _But he hadn't. He hadn't grown to like it. He hadn't even grown to tolerate it._

 _He had managed to become accustomed to it. He had commanded himself to no longer get nauseous from the scent. No, no. When the smell entered his nostrils, he did not gag._

 _He breathed._

 _Breathed it all in, made his veins pump with it, made his muscles contract with it, made his body feed off it._

 _The funk did its job. Made him feel stronger, better. So long as he didn't throw up or gag. And he wouldn't, if he concentrated and let it fill him with determination instead of affliction._

 _But now, for some reason, as he stood amidst the crowd, he smelt it. And, after all these years of working hard to ignoring it, it hit him hard and fast and it made his knees wobble._

 _It spread. This time, past his nose and into his brain. The awful smell, the awful fumes. Smoke filled his head, his eyes watered and his throat burned. He clutched at his chest, his breathing becoming more labored. Screams echoed through his ears, loud booms resounded afterwards and one lone face stood out among all others. In the middle of all the chaos and all the dying and all the stink, he saw her._

 _Her blue eyes twinkled with tears. Her hair flew wildly across her face from the wind. An expression of shame, worry and sadness all mixed into one was on her face. And she stared right at him. She stared and cried and mouthed out,_

 _"Why?"_

 _Then, a violent eruption sounded and her face switched to fear and bafflement. Suddenly, the left side of her face completely disappeared, leaving only a bony skeletal structure of what had been there. Then, the other side of her face, then the rest of her. Slowly being disintegrated by a blinding snow. He screamed her name, reached out for her but couldn't get to her in time. The smell vibrated in his body, soaking his tongue, making him cough._

 _Then she was gone. Taken away by the frosting snow that seemed to be causing the whole commotion. By the frosting snow, the helpless humans were covered; freezing them all from existence._

 _The same snow that were emitting from his hands. In the darkened confides of his room, Russia snapped his violet eyes open quickly. Sweat rolled down his face, his chest heaved with deep breaths and he discovered he had been subconsciously clenching his fingers into fists._

* * *

Confusion came first. He flicked his eyes around the room in a panic, licking his dry lips, trying desperately to figure out where he was.

The door opened him and he snapped his eyes to it instantly. The figure inside moved, their clattering dishware sounding around the room. His tense posture slowly relaxed.

Belarus.

She was alive.

He breathed out a sigh of relief and almost laughed as he saw the familiar, long, navy blue dress, ordained with a white hairbow, a white waist apron, and black shoes with black thigh-thighs. He watched as her hands curled around the plates, gripping them ever so slightly, with a deadpan expression plastered onto on her face.

As she placed the plates down, saying no words, she gave one long glance at him, before quickly retreating.

Russia frowned at this, but smiled softly.

 _She had visited him and hadn't fawned over the idea of getting married to him. She graced him with her presence, even if for a small time._

The images in his head flashed painfully bright through his mind. A hammer, screaming, death. He grabbed his forehead as it throbbed and concluded the obvious:

It had only been a dream.

No. It had been a reality.

He slowly slid the covers off him, being careful not to frighten the watchers peering into the camera before him, and got to his feet swiftly. Dressed in Demin trousers and a cardigan, the beige nation made his way to the bathroom connected to the padded bedroom. He shut the door, flicked on the light, sat on the lid of the toilet and, for a moment, he was motionless.

Nightmare. He had had a nightmare.

The word came back to his mind and he growled. How long had it been since he had last had a nightmare?

It seemed like forever ago.

And the contents of it. The crowds... the storms... the screaming... _him_.

He knew exactly what the dreams were replaying. He knew what they were indicating, knew what his _own_ subconscious mind was trying to dig back up.

 _The crowds._ Him standing in the center of Moscow. A multitude of his citizens raising their voices in unison in the harsh snow.

 _The storm._ The Reds challenging the Whites to battle. Arrayed with common tools, he dived into battle to support his fellow countrymen.

 _The screaming._ The frightened yells of his citizens as the Workers tried to hold back the Bolshevik.

 _Him_.

He watched an evil smirk gracing his opponent's face. Clad in red and black, and a large sickle running down his arm, Russia's mirror-image stood before him.

Holding out a pipe, rushing towards Soviet and connecting with a blanket of snow.

Dazed, Russia lifted his head up, eyebrows furrowed. The sight of him in the middle of his nightmare had been both overwhelming and surprising. For the life of him, he couldn't recall seeing him in some time.

So why had he shown up in his mind?

The same questions from every other night arose in his mind like déjà vu and he couldn't help but chuckle mirthlessly. The laughter stopped however when he came back to mind.

His expression vividly flashed into his thoughts. Wide eyes, tears, fear. Russia watched his mouth moving slowly, "Why?"

Then he disappeared. Because of _him_.

* * *

Russia abruptly got to his feet, frightened at his own thoughts, at his own dreams. He paced back and forth, cursing himself. It had been years since the Revolution had occurred and recently since the _'death_ ' of...the Soviet Union. The Russian didn't believe the others' accounts of him being _a monster._ No one will believe that he was not Soviet Union, and until he is released from this asylum, no one will know the truth.

It was possible that Ukraine had been the one know the truth. She was the one who Soviet seemed to be fond of, based on the testimonies the others told of.

Ukraine had to know. Although she hadn't blamed him, or yelled at him or kicked him out, he had seen the look in her eyes. The disappointment. The _change_. On some level, he felt she was afraid of him.

It was ruefully ironic that she had witnessed that side of him but hadn't been informed of the events that took place when he had tried, but failed, to win the Revolution. But, of course, she only got to see the worst of him. Never the better.

Ever since, Russia had managed to skillfully bury the whole thing and ignore it. Unlike Ukraine, he knew how to do that. Although the looks she sometimes gave him dredged all the memories right back up.

But now... Now they were returning in dreams. Horrible, earth shattering dreams. Once or twice every night. It was always the same deal, the _same damn_ dream. And, every night, unbeknown to his mate, he came into the bathroom to mull and gripe and curse himself.

To complain of his own weaknesses. The nightmares tormented his mind at night while his sister's attitude chipped off his self-esteem by day.

Of course, he'd never tell her that. Probably because, deep down, he thought it'd get better. They had been through hard times before and had gotten through it. They could surely make it through this.

They had to.

Russia ran a hand down his face and came to a stop before the mirror above the sink. He leaned his hands on the edges of it, and stared intently at himself. Dark circles under his eyes, hair messed up more than usual. He wasn't looking his best but then again, he wasn't feeling his best either.

 _"Once a powerful nation that even matched with наполеон. Though you always prided yourself on saying that you had bested his army."_

The deep, echoing voice took him by surprise. Narrowing his eyes, Russia glanced upwards and side to side in confusion. Then, slowly, very slowly, Russia realized who the voice was coming from. His face went blank for a second before he turned back towards the mirror, praying his assumption wasn't correct.

But it was.

 _"That voice must have lost its spirit once more."_ It rasped again. But this time, Russia could put a face to the sound. His eyes widened and he leaned in nearer, blinking his eyes rapidly to make sure what he saw was real. The fact that it was didn't help him feel any better. The image staring back at him from the mirror...

Well, it was himself, of course. But, then again, it wasn't.

The mirror version of his self, didn't look as tired. He looked vibrant, young and evil. The large sickle was on his forehead and there was a nasty smirk planted on his mouth.

Soviet Union.

Russia growled low in his throat as his arms started to shake.

Coming up with a retort, Russia replied with a sharp smile, " _I'm surprised that you aren't dead yet, since I'm in control now."_

The image vanished, as Russia finished refreshing himself. Turning back into his room, he was greeted to the surprise of Soviet standing before him.

His eyes widened and he leaned in nearer, blinking his eyes rapidly to make sure what he saw was real. The fact that it was didn't help him feel any better.

Well, it was himself, of course. But, then again, it wasn't.

 _"When you broke from my grasp, you might have managed to conceal me."_ He barked in laughter, as if the mere thought of it was impossible. _"But only for a limited time."_

Russia opened his mouth to reply but stopped when he realized he had nothing to say.

 _"This is all hard to believe, isn't it? I mean, evil sides, dual personalities, you probably suspect you're losing your mind. But, fret not, you are perfectly sane. In my eyes, anyway but I guess that isn't saying much."_

"What do you want?" Russia said.

 _"I'm worried about you, Ruskie."_ He mocked _. "I'm worried that these silly humans will make you soft...well, softer then you've already become. Those nations locked you up and your 'identify' with it. Bah! Who ever saw a personification with dulling hair?"_ It smirked. _"Do you really want to be like this once you become a trusted power?"_

Power. Loss of identity.

The words shocked Russia so much he snapped his head back as if he'd been punched. He had never thought about his loss of _identity._

"My identity is not lost- I have maintained my population and heritage." He found himself reassuring himself…to _himself_.

 _"Oh, now don't you sound like a proud nation."_ He tsked. _"And say, what's going to happen with your controlled nations? Or their citizens? Or their heritages once you release them wholly?"_

Russia simply furrowed his eyebrows.

 _"Sooner or later Russia, our nation will fall."_

Although he had suspected that a long time ago, the words still hit him hard. Russia let his shoulders slump and he just stared at his counterpart with malice. His evil, mocking reflection.

 _"But the humans will not."_ He continued, almost angrily, flinching. _"They might be the weakest, dumbest creatures of the world but they are dominant. And, while our persona is doomed to depletion, theirs shall rave on without decline."_

"What's the point?" Russia's voice was cold and hard. He felt drained and worn out and defeated. The fear of his sanity falling apart was gone. He didn't care anymore. He simply did not care.

 _"My point is,"_ The reflectiion of the nation raised his hand and, although it was the right shape, it looked black and deformed. " _Let me come back out. Let me guide you on your quest. Let us kill off these troublesome humans and_ _ **we**_ _shall become the dominant species yet again."_

The words swirled in Russia's brain and, for one quick moment or maybe longer, he let the ideas come to life. Something inside him snapped and Soviet Union was back, laughing and smirking, power coursing through his veins, red in front of his eyes, and world dominance on the brain. Waving the flag on top of Kremlin, fighting America for decades, crying as his family left him.

He froze.

 _Crying as his family left him..._

 _"This house has fallen."_

 _His sister in the crowds. Crying, mouthing the words, "Why?"_

 _The dark voice, telling him to kill all humans, "Let_ _ **me**_ _come back out."_

The visions cracked and shattered, leaving him shaking alone in the bathroom, staring down into the sink.

Then, his head came up and glared right into the eyes of his own reflection. Right into the evil, soulless eyes of the man he had once been. The darkness inside of him that had grown so much, it had taken the form as this demon.

"No." He said evenly.

Soviet's smirk faded quickly and in his place, came a scowl _. "What?"_

It was Russia's time for a victory smirk and he gave one full force. "Are you dense? Hard of hearing? I said No.

He growled _. "Look whose standing up for themselves. No matter,"_ He smiled. _"You can't keep me bottled up forever. I won't abandon you like your Allies."_

"I won't need to."

The reflection raised an eyebrow.

Then Russia started to laugh. It started off as a chuckle then rose to full, whole hearted guffaws. "You have it all figured out, don't you? Or should I say, _I_ have it all figured out? There is no reason to try and maintain a dying race. I have already succumbed to the idea and unlike you; I'm fine with it now. Why whine over something inevitable?"

He balled its hands into a fist. " _Yes, why whine?_ _Since you seemed to be the only one who did. Why the change of heart? Do tell."_

"Actually," Russia shrugged. "Something you said put everything into perspective." He watched the nation frown. "'Let _me come back out.'? 'Let me guide you on your quest.'?_ Sounds like you don't have as much control as you say, if I have to _**let**_ you do everything."

Not wanting to see his face, Russia left the room. Sighing, Russia left the bathroom. He paused as he saw Soviet in full view, sitting on his bed.

 _'We didn't finish our conversation.'_ He said, smirking at his counterparts expression.

* * *

 _"Why do you never let me be at peace?"_ Russia grumbled, glancing at his counterpart.

It had been about an hour since he discovered the Soviet personification in his presence. He did not go away at the commands of Russia, only instead, resorting to insults. When Russia asked what he wanted, his expression turned to horror, as his counterpart had a sly smile.

 _'Anything?'_ While his attempts proved to be of _certain gestures_ , Russia was not pleased that he was entertaining the Slavic.

Ignoring his counterpart's shifting auras, Soviet motioned to the bed _,_ asking, _"Would you like to be more comfortable?"_

Russia glared furiously, as he was unsure how to respond to that information.

Smirking, Soviet sat on the bed, waiting for the Russian to join.

When Russia understood that he would not leave him alone, he sat down, exhaling sharply.

 _"So perverted Russia. I'm not suggesting_ that. _"_ The Nation didn't have an apologetic look on his face. It seemed that he relished in the nation's suffering.

Russia leaned back a bit, face in a scowl, but too curious as to what the other wanted to speak about.

As time passed, Russia grew annoyed, wondering why he was still there. When he still did not respond, he was about to get up from the bed, but had his arm pulled down by the figure on his bed. Sore from sitting for some time, Russia was about to dissent his displeasure, when the other coughed. Finally hearing his reply, Russia did not expect the Nation's response.

 _"Do you remember Napoleon?"_

 _'Such an odd answer.' "_ Yes, I am aware of him, what are you trying to say?"

 _'His efforts of invading us proved to be a vain dream. Did it not?'_ Soviet appeared to direct the conversation toward another matter, but Russia would not let him get the opportunity.

 _"While it is true that I had faced my difficulties with the French Commander, it was ultimately my win, as I led the overall siege against him."_

The voice only laughed. _"Eylau, Austerlitz, and the Berezina, all seem to tell of a different scenario."_

Russia frowned inwardly; yes, it was true that he had almost lost against _наполеон._ наполеон didn't invade in Winter, but during the Summer. The only reason he had lost was because he was ill-prepared to realize that Russia was too big to conquer in one season. The victory against him was that of luck arguably.

 _Reading his thoughts, the voice told of another failure of the Russian Nation. "_ Россия, _just like the Campaignyou were ill-prepared for your citizens' revolt. Gapon tried to change, but he had met the fate our government like the rest."_

This time, Russia grew angry. _"And at the cost of hundreds of lives! That damned Sunday gave rise to your reign."_

 _"I gave reforms to the people! All you had done was ignore your citizens and then try to elect that Radical Lover."_ Soviet frowned as he replayed the memory of Old Rasputin.

Russia laughed bitterly, bringing the memory of the crazed monk to surface. _"You didn't fare better either. Remembet the Worker's protest? You tried to calm it down, but your own revolted agaisnt you!"_ Russia smirked at the memory of Nicholas's forced removal from the throne. Though that year was full of great turmoil, he had nothing but great admiration for the Women's Protest, as it turned many of his citizens on his side.

But the dopperganger didn't relent. _"Ah yes, the Protest. Just multitude of women demanding their "rights". If I had not given any rights to the men, what makes them believe I would given the men theirs too?"_ The former Empire grew on a rant as he pointed out th flaws of the Protest.

Russia sighed, the Empire wouldn't concede. _"I am very aware of the Protest. It gave rise to the Systems, dual failures that you couldn't sustain._ Russia knew that it wouldn't be very wise to mock the Sociopathic Nation, but if it was to only to have a conversation with someone, he would gladly take up the offer.

 _"Those "dual systems", gave rise to my leadership. None of our citizens wanted to go to a war with Германия. With the forced efforts perpretated by_ your government, _my citizens turned to their alternative."_

Russia's face relaxed- he knew exactly what Soviet was mentioning. After the departure of the tsar, Lenin's Bolshevik faction of the Russian Social- Democratic Labour Party, took a senior role in orchestrating the October Revolution in 1917, which led to the overthrow of the Russian Provisional Government and the establishment of the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic, the world's first constitutionally socialist state.

 _Finally listening to Russia, Soivet's tone slowed town to a much softer tune: "Immediately afterwards, Lenin proceeded to implement socialist reforms, including the transfer of estates and crown lands to workers' soviets. Faced with the threat of German invasion, he argued that we should immediately sign a peace treaty, leading to our exit from the First World War."_

Deep in thought, Russia only nodded as his couterpart continued on in a slower, almost menacholic tone.

" _In 1921, Lenin proposed the New Economic Policy, a system of state capitalism that started the process of industrialization and recovery from the Russian Civil War. In 1922, the Russian SFSR joined former territories of the Russian Empire in becoming the Soviet Union, with Lenin as its leader. The Bolshevik faction later became the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, which acted as a vanguard party presiding over a single-party dictatorship of the proletariat."_ It was quite an akward exchange, as the usually- cunning nation, behaved in a submissive way.

Russia nodded absently. Because of Lenin's reforms, it united him and Soviet into a single party. He was the reason why Soviet had become apart of him. Even after Soviet's fall, traces of the former Republic, still lingered on inside of Russia.

 _Agreeing with his thoguhts, the Republic tried an effort of encourgament- if it was to be called that: "Because of his reforms, it gave power back to the people! No more turmoil among the poor and disgust with the rich! We even gave lands back to the States. We tried to right our undoings."_ Now, the Republic was uncertain. If he could see his expression clearly, Russia would assume that he would have a weak smile plastered onto his face.

' _And what did it lead to? Urban workers and soldiers grew disconected with the Bolsheviks. The promise of socialism and workers control turned out a military dictatorship. Strikes and protests broke out in 1920, but the Bolsheviks subdued the "popular revolts." The Bolsheviks would not tolerate and crushed any internal dissent.' Russia lamented, unpleased with the Empire's weak retorts._

 _Soviet took a while to respond, taking in Russia's word carefully._

Instead of answering him, Soviet brought out a book. It was a picture of a pig on top of a desk. Recongnizing immedialtely the book, Russia inhaled, 'Animal Farm.'

Responding for a short moment, Soviet held up a book to deliver his words.

 _'This book resonates quite clearly with the idea that all power can contain an element of corruptibility. It is up to societies at large to create checks and balances so that such power cannot silence voices at will and become unchecked and unrestrained in its reach. It is here where the novel teaches much about life.'_

Russia agreed with the statement, an action that made him feel a little unsettled."Power in all forms is shown as something that necessitates limitations and institutional forms of limitation of reach. The notion of providing more opportunities for individual voices to be acknowledged is something that also emerges from the narrative."

 _Smiling, the Republic nodded his head. ''There appears to be similarities between this book and our past.' Smiling widely, Soviet adjusted himself, as he laid down the back. ''Take a look at the characters and question the likeness of them to ourselves.'_

Warningly staring at him, Russia picked up the book that he uncharacteristically connected with. It was quite ironic that a book that he had read multiple times, always made him ponder on his world. Even now, he was stumbling trying to find the correct words to address the Empire.

 _Seeing his confusion, the Republic gladly offered to start the conservation._

 _''This book takes place at an unspecified time on a British farm near Willingdon, a town that is mentioned only in passing. The farm is first called Manor Farm, later renamed Animal Farm and, finally, Manor Farm once more.''_

' _Manor,'_ Russia thought. ' _That can mean the land overseen by a lord, the house of a lord, or a mansion.'_ Russia knew quite well about Manors, because of the prominent influence it had on his Royal Monarchs during the 17 and early 20th centuries.

Taking in his expression, Soviet continued on. _''The characters, an interesting lot, teach that the need to question, to raise doubt, and to continual excerise and activate freedom to dissent at all possible moments, is something that must be embedded within both society and individuals to ensure that such abuses of power do not happen with such stunning frequency. Quite a stark contrast to our society today." With a little laugh, Soviet read on the book, taking pauses to stare at the book._

Russia was intrigued. The cunning, deceptive, sociopathic being before, had an itnerest in politcal satire. It seems that even the most unconvetional of humor, can break down the hardest of sheilds. Still, he watched on, trying to anticapate his opponent's next moves.

When he finally did talk, he answered with a strange reply. _'Mr. Jones was a lazy bastard. He seems to always flip on emotioms; being kind one moment, and cruel the next.'_

Russia was confused to the use of a past tense of _"is",_ before his eyes lit in recongiton. _"_ Sometimes cruel, sometimes kind, and irresponbile in all moments? Like Nicholas II!" He did not see the Republic's small smirk, too enthralled with the recogniton.

When he finally realized Soviet's presence again, it was too late to take back his words. Now, Soviet would make it into a game- something he was skilled greatly in.

Smilimg maliciously, Soviet picked up on Russia's change of appearance. He would enjoy this very much. ' _Why yes Russia, you picked up onto the similarites between the characters. Would you like a treat?"_

Russia frowned as the submissive tone the other was using. He knows that he should be used to it, but he couldn't- or wouldn't for that matter- choose to believe the other's trickey. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction, Russia touched upon a subject he knew that would make the other's blood boil.

 _"Oh I'm sure that you would delight in_ that, _after all, you only seemed to be following Major's Commands. The similarites between Marx and Major were astonishing- both paroting a failed philosphy, teaching overruling of the government, and dying before the real effects takes place."_ He watched as the others's eyebrows furrowed in disgust-enjoying every moment on it. If he wanted to make the game a little more interesting, he wouldn't throw away the invitation.

Instead of lashing out as Russia expected, he moved onto his next target _. 'Crude and thoughtless communism, negates the personality of man in every sphere. The personality of man, is to be equal, and own the State. If it were not so, it will give to destablization.'_

 _'So that's how he wants to play.'_ Russia thought. ' _He wants to be philosphical now? Perhaps it is time to best him.'_ "In the novel, there was a character who was quite idealstic, promoting views that were thought to be of use to the inhabitants of the barn. When he was chased away, a true idealogue grew, a false utopia hidden by promise of freedom for the State."

 _''The pig was charasmatic at best, and his dreams of "_ prosperity" _and "improvement for the citizens", allowed him to be chased away- just like all other ideals that challenged Communism.''_

Like other ideals, those that threaten a supreme or most-focused idealogue, is destroyed, leaving failure and ruin in its traces. All throughout history, we see the corrupting effect that a leading power is subjected too.

Not wanting to led that thought linger in his mind, Russia moved onto his next point. "At the beginning of the book, Old Major describes the oppression that the animals experience, and predicts that the day will come when they overthrow their human masters and build an equitable society."

Soivet seemed to agree, but he put a spin on his words: _"When the animals of Manor Farm drive off Jones, it appears that day has come. But we quickly see that the pigs, by virtue of their leadership of the revolution, quickly become corrupted by power. Just as the leaders predicted, their corruption leads to forced methods that needs to be taken."_

Russia knew exactly what he meant- The contrasting ruling of power between Snowball and Napoleon. Both ideals seemed enticing to the animals on the farm, but there could only be one that remained strong.

 _"Yes,"_ Soviet said, appearing as if he lost control of his emotions. But Russia knew, that was not the case. " _With the opposing parties, the farm was uncertain what to choose. They knew of the benefits that each had, but the cons were hidden away, not taken into consideraton amongst themselves."_

Russia agreed. The length of deciet between both parties was hidden well. Propaganda by Napoleon's right-hand man, forced control of law within the farm, a dashed freedom of hope perpuated by Moses, and the sheep that complied with them all.

Understanding his thoughts, Soviet explained his thoughts:" _You see Russia, there were two charactes that differred from the rest of the animals on the farm: Boxer and Benjamin.. You had dedicated but gullible ciizens that followed along with rest, striving to ahcieve their best, but blinded by their surronding enviornemts, and you skeptical people, who challenged the common belief, but are unable to change their suspicions."_

Russia sighed, Soviet was right with the outlook on the world. With both characters, and both outcomes... they operate interchangily; it would be difficult to change their beliefs. ' _And then you have Mollie, representing all the selfishness in the world. Mollies are even worst than Benjamins and Boxers- with those two, at least they care about their allies!'_

They did not speak for a while, only watching the other, questioning in their minds if the other was going to make the next conversation. When neither answered, they turned away from one another- Soviet studying the walls and glancing about the room, and Russia focusing his attention on the book.

Breaking his silence again, Russia, finally understanding the cunning's nations point, summarized what he had learned: "In this depiction, the novel teaches that the need to question, to raise doubt, and to continual exercise and activate freedom to dissent at all possible moments is something that must be embedded within both society and individuals to ensure that such abuses of power do not happen with such stunning frequency."

He saw the Slavic's smile upward, a sincere one shockingly, as he ended with his final input: _''The truth about life, death, nature, evolution, universal laws, spirituality, mankind and a lot more can now be understood. These are issues that concerns us lightly. We are all living and dying and we all want to understand why, to find our purpose and to be peaceful. These things has not been possible to understand before now for 1000`s of reasons, but now we can, and to waste this oppurtunity, would be the biggest mistake possible.''_

With that last speech, Soviet smiled at Russia, before dissappearing from Russia's sight.

Russia sighed, he was finally at peace- for only a short while. Chuckling quietly, Russia glanced at the narrative. Getting more comfortable on the bed, he read the book that was the boon of his thoughts. As he browsed through the book, he saw a page that differed from the rest. Carefully pulling it out, he turned it over, readin _g_ the handwriting on it:

 _'All over the world, political speech is strategized, honed, and refined in such a way as to rob language of its "natural" meaning. This is not true everywhere and not true all the time, but there is a distinct tendency to take ownership of language (in commerce and politics) in a way that can be called abusive and which leads to confusion and dishonesty while facilitating potential corruption.'_

 _'The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which.'_

 _-Soviet Union_

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **-Sorry for any grammatical mistakes and/or historical inaccuracies!**

 **-If you do not wish to read the following part, click Control +F, and then type: "End of Story."**

* * *

 **Translations**

 **Германия-Germany**

 **наполеон-Napoleon**

 **Россия- Russia**

* * *

 **For this story, since I only included the events that led to the rise of the Soviet Union and the events afterwards, I am excluding explanaitons for the Cold War. Those explanations will be reserved for a future chapter.**

 **Thank you once more for reaching up this point! This took some time and I wanted to provide an explantion for this chapter. Without further ado, here I go:**

 **A. Russian Military Defense**

 **1\. Contrary to Popular belief, Napoleoon didn't invade during Winter, he invaded in Summer. But Russia was too big to conquer in one campaigning season, something Napoleon only realized later, admitting he should have planned for a two year campaign instead of one.**

 **1a. The Winter compounded his losses, but he had to retreat due to his massive logistics problem and vastly overextended supply line. It was time and space that defeated him, not winter. Winter just made it a lot worse than it would have been otherwise. He waited in Moscow for six weeks after he defeated the Russians in the major battle of the campaign at Borodino, for Alexander to negotiate peace. But Alexander vowed never to ask for peace so long as a French soldier was on Russian soil. Therefore Napoleon had no choice but to retreat and regroup. Winter then set in early and decimated his remaining forces over the course of his retreat. But it wasn't Winter that forced him to retreat in the first place.**

 **Russian army was the largest in Europe, it had defeated Napoleon, but it was poorly trained, under supplied, inadequately equipped, and unprepared. Peasant soldiers in the Russian armies lost their will to fight and began to desert. The tzar had to deal with domestic discontent and internal resistance. There was a militant labor movement and a rebellious urban population. City dwellers coped with inflation and agrarian shortages of food, grains, and fuel.**

 **B. Rise of Political Discord in Pre-Revolution Russia**

 **2\. In the Revolution of 1905, Czar Nicholas II's priest, Father Gapon led a protest march of tens of thousands of workers over the conditions in St. Petersburg. On January 22, 1905 troops fired on the crowd, killing hundreds on "Bloody Sunday." Worker strikes and feudal peasant uprisings called for change. The czar promised reform and a Duma to represent all classes. A Duma (parliament) was elected that was boycotted by the Marxists, who urged revolution. Rasputin, "the mad monk," influenced the czar's wife Alexandra by claiming to have cured the czar's only son of hemophilia. Rasputin was murdered and the czar delayed reform.**

 **2a. In February, 1917, in Petrograd, now St. Petersburg forces revolted on International Women's Day, February 23. An organized march of women-workers, mothers, and wives demanded food, fuel, and political reform. Demonstrations and strikes swept through the country. At a mass strike, tsar Nicholas II sent in police and military to halt the riot. 60,000 Petrograd troops mutinied and joined the revolt. Nicholas II abdicated the throne on March 2.**

 **C. A New Idealouge**

 **3\. After the overthrow of the tsar's autocracy, two centers of power emerged. The provisional government led by leaders in the Duma (parliament) was composed of middle class liberals. Kerenskyheaded the provisional government, distorting the grievances of the lower classes. The new government system was established under constitutional rule. It set up a national election for a constituent assembly to grant and secure civil liberties, release political prisoners, and redirect power to local officials. The other center of power was with the Soviets, local councils elected by workers and soldiers. Soviet councils claimed to be true representatives of the people.**

 **3a. Leon Trotsky claimed to be the legitimate political power in Russia. He pressed for social reform, redistribution of land and negotiated settlement with Germany to get out of the war. The provisional government refused to desert the allies or concede defeat militarily. War was unpopular and unsupported. Many deserted the army. The transitional, provisionary government was in chaos.**

 **D. A Change of Government for Russia**

 **4\. The Bolsheviks, a majority branch of Russian social democracy movement overthrew the provisional government. Marxist leadership of the Russian Social Democrats took revolutionary steps toward socialism. The Bolsheviks, radical members of the majority, favored a centralized party of active revolutionaries. Revolution alone would lead directly to a socialist regime. The Mensheviks, members of the minority, wanted socialism gradually.**

 **4a. In the Russian Revolution of 1917, The Bolsheviks revolutionary leadership was Vladamir IlyichUlyanov, or Lenin, a member of the middle class, expelled from University for engaging in radical activity, and spent three years as a political prisoner in Siberia. From 1900-1917 he wrote as an exile in Western Europe.**

 **4b. Lenin believed the development of Russian capitalism made socialist revolution possible. The Bolsheviks needed to organize the new class of industrial workers, to bring revolution. Factory workers needed party leadership to accomplish the goal of revolution. Russian revolutionary tradition and Marxism could achieve their goals immediately. The Bolsheviks demanded an end to the war with Germany and Austria, improvement in working and living conditions for workers, and redistribution of aristocratic land to the peasantry.**

 **4c. Lenin condemned imperialist war policies and opposed the bourgeoisie government. He called for "Peace, Land, and Bread Now" and "All Power to the Soviets," winning Bolshevik support from workers, soldiers, and peasants. Unemployment, starvation, and chaos in Russia - the Bolsheviks power was rising fast. Lenin and the Bolsheviks attacked the provisional government and took over the Winter Palace on October 25, 1917. They moved against all political competition, beginning with the Soviets, and expelled opposition parties, creating a new Bolsheviks government.**

 **E. A New Response**

 **5\. When the Bolsheviks did not win a majority in the elections, they dispersed the Constituent Assembly by force, and Lenin's Bolsheviks ruled socialist Russia and the Soviet Union as a one party dictatorship. Peasants took over land they had worked for generations now rightfully theirs. Bolsheviks redistributed the nobles' land to peasants. Bolsheviks nationalized banks, and gave workers control of factories.**

 **5b. Taking Russia out of the war, a separate treaty with Germany was negotiated by Trotsky, and signed at Brest-Litovsk in March, 1918. The Bolsheviks surrendered Russian agricultural territories of Ukraine, Georgia, Finland, Poland, and the Baltic states. The treaty ended Russia's role in the fighting, saving the communist regime from certain military defeat by the Germans.**

 **5c. The Revolution allowed the Germans to win the war on the Eastern Front. The socialists held power in what many considered a backward country. The Russian revolution, "the ten days that shook the world," was a political transformation that set up future revolutionary struggles. The Bolshevik takeover in October, 1917 began revolutionary events in Russia.**

 **F. Opposing Responses**

 **6a. Under Lenin's leadership, the Bolsheviks seized internal political power, and withdrew from the war. This polarized Russian society and set off a civil war. The enemies of the Bolsheviks, those associated with the ousted tsarist regime, began to attack the new government. Known collectively as "Whites," the Bolsheviks opponents had the common goal of removing the "Reds" from power. The Whites military force came from reactionary monarchists, the old nobility, the provisional government, and anarchists, or "Greens" who opposed all centralized state power and joined the Whites.**

 **6b. The United States, Great Britain, and Japan threatened intervention. Outside support for the Whites was no threat to the Bolsheviks, who used the intervention as propaganda claiming the Whites were assisting foreign powers in invading Russia. The Bolsheviks mistrusted the capitalist world powers which in the Marxist view,naturally opposed the existence of the world's first "socialist" state.**

 **G. The Resolution**

 **7\. The Bolsheviks eventually won the civil war, gaining greater support and acceptance from the population, and were better organized for the civil war. The Bolsheviks quickly mobilized to fight. Leon Trotsky became the new commisar of war, and his Red Army of 5 million defeated White armies in 1920 and put down the Nationalist uprisings in 1921. The country suffered one million combat casualties, several million deaths from hunger and disease caused by the civil war, 1-300,000 executions, and permanent hatreds among ethnic minorities engendered by the barbarism of the war that brutalized society under the new Bolshevik regime.**

 **7a. Urban workers and soldiers grew discontented with the Bolsheviks. The promise of socialism and workers control turned out a military dictatorship. Strikes and protests broke out in 1920, but the Bolsheviks subdued the "popular revolts." The Bolsheviks would not tolerate and crushed any internal dissent.**

 **7b. The Bolsheviks abandoned war communism due to an economic and political war-ravaged economy. In 1921, the New Economic Policy, (NEP) reverted back to state capitalism after the revolution. The state continued to own all major industry and monetary concerns. Lenin called it the "commanding heights" of the economic system. People were allowed to own private property, trade freely, and farm their land for their own benefit. Fixed taxes were imposed on the peasantry, and what peasants grew beyond the tax requirement was theirs.**

 **H. Final Notes**

 **8\. The civil war shaped Bolshevik economic "socialism." Taking power in 1917 Lenin expected to create a state capitalist system that resembled successful European wartime economies. The Bolsheviks took control of large scale industry, small-scale private economic activity, banking and all major capital and let agriculture continue. The civil war pushed them toward a radical wartime economy known as "war communism." The Bolsheviks requisitioned grain from the peasantry, made private trade in consumer goods and "speculation" illegal, militarized production facilities, and abolished money. These measures were responses to economic conditions beyond control.**

 **8b. Radical Bolsheviks believed war communism would replace the capitalist system that collapsed in 1917. Though war communism lasted during the civil war, the war devastated Russian industry and emptied cities' populations in Moscow and Kiev. The masses of urban workers supporting the Bolshevik revolution employed in major industries diminished, leaving fewer workers remaining on the job. Industrial ouput fell. War communism was devastating to agriculture. Peasants seized and redistributed noble lands and held small plots of land under twenty acres. Grain requisitioning and outlawing all private trade in grain brought famine in 1921 that claimed 5 million lives.**

* * *

 **Now, here is the similarities between the characters in** ** _Animal Farm,_** **and the characters that gave rise to the Russian Revolution.**

 **Animal Farm - Comparison of characters of Animal Farm to the Russian Revolution**

 **Animal Farm**

 **1\. Mr. Jones**

irresponsible to his animals (lets them starve) sometimes cruel - beats them with whip sometimes kind - mixes milk in animal mash

 **2\. Old Major**

taught Animalism workers do the work, rich keep the $, animals revolt dies before revolution

 **3\. Animalism**

no owners, no rich, but no poor workers get a better life, all animals equal everyone owns the farm

 **4\. Snowball**

young, smart, good speaker, idealistic really wants to make life better for all one of leaders of revolution chased away into exile by Napoleon's dogs

 **5\. Napoleon**

not a good speaker, not as clever like Snowball cruel, brutal, selfish, devious, corrupt his ambition is for power, killed opponents used dogs, moses, and Squealor to control animals

 **6\. Squealer**

big mouth, talks a lot convinces animals to believe and follow Napoleon Changes and manipulates the commandments

 **7\. The Dogs**

a private army that used fear to force animals to work killed or intimidated any opponent of Napoleon another part of Napoleon's strategy to control animals

 **8\. Moses the Raven**

tells animals about SugarCandy mountain - Heaven animals can go there if they work hard Snowball and Major were against him they though Heaven was a lie to make animals work Napoleon let him stay because he taught animals to work and not complain

 **9\. Mollie**

was vain - loved her beauty and self didn't think about the animal farm went with anyone who gave her what she wanted

 **10\. Boxer**

strong, hard working horse, believes in Animal Farm "Napoleon is always right", "I must work harder" gives his all, is betrayed by Napoleon, who sells him

 **11\. Benjamin**

old, wise donkey who is suspicious of revolution thinks "nothing ever changes", is right his suspicions are true, about Boxer and sign changes

 **12\. Overall details about revolution**

it was supposed to make life better for all life was worse at the end The leaders became the same as, or worse than, the other farmers (humans) they rebelled against.

 **Russian Revolution**

 **1\. Czar Nicholas II**

a poor leader at best, compared to western kings cruel - sometimes brutal with opponents Sometimes kind - hired students as spies to make $

 **2\. Karl Marx**

invented Communism "workers of the world unite", take over gov't dies before Russian Revolution

 **3\. Communism**

same all people equal gov't owns everything, people own gov't

 **4\. Leon Trotsky**

other leader of "October Revolution" pure communist, followed Marx wanted to improve life for all in Russia chased away by Lenin's KGB (Lenin's secret police)

 **5\. Joseph Stalin**

not a good speaker, not educated like Trotsky same as Napoleon, didn't follow Marx's ideas cared for power, killed all that opposed him used KGB, allowed church, and propagandized

 **6\. Propaganda department of Lenin's government**

worked for Stalin to support his image used any lie to convince the people to follow Stalin benefited from the fact that education was controlled

 **7\. KGB - Secret Police**

not really police, but forced support for Stalin used force, often killed entire families for disobedience totally loyal, part of Lenin's power, even over army

 **8\. Religion**

Marx said "Opiate of the people" a lie used to make people not complain and do their work Religion was tolerared because people would work Stalin knew religion would stop violent revolutions

 **9\. Vain, selfish people in Russia and world**

some people didn't care about revolution only though about themselves went to other countries that offered more for them

 **10\. Dedicated, but tricked communist supporters**

people believed Stalin because he was "Communist" many stayed loyal after it was obvious Stalin a tyrant betrayed by Stalin who ignored and killed them

 **11\. Skeptical people in Russia and outside Russia**

weren't sure revolution would change anything realized that a crazy leader can call himself communist knew that communism wouldn't work with power hungry leaders

 **12\. Overall details of Russian Revolution**

supposed to fix problems from Czar life was even worse long after revolution Stalin made Czar look like a nice guy

* * *

 **Quotes**

 _ **Crude and thoughtless communism ... negates the personality of man in every sphere. ... General envy constituting itself as a power is the disguise in which greed re-establishes itself and satisfies itself, only in another way. ... Crude communism is only the culmination of this envy and of this levelling-down.- Karl Marx, Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844, in Karl Marx, Frederick Engels: Collected Works (1975), p. 295.**_

 _ **The truth about life, death, nature, evolution, universal laws, spirituality, mankind and a lot more can now be understood. These are issues that concerns us lightly. We are all living and dying and we all want to understand why, to find our purpose and to be peaceful. These things has not been possible to understand before now for 1000`s of reasons, but now we can, and to waste this oppurtunity, would be the biggest mistake possible.-3 HOURS Best Relaxing Music 'Romantic Piano" Background Music for Stress Relief. Youtuber- Mind Funk**_

 _ **'The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which.' - Animal Farm by George Orwell (Last Sentence)**_

* * *

 **A very long read, but very informative nonetheless.** **Thank you for reading, and I hope to see you again!**

 **~Enchanting Grace**

 **End of story**


	3. Breaking Point

He doesn't know why she's here.

Why she knowingly risked her livelihood by meeting with him.

Why, despite her governments decrees, the protests of the former States, her declining state of mind, she _still_ came to her dear brother's aid.

He supposes it has to do with her character.

Ukraine is the glue. She is the strong one, the motherly figure who learns with time; she laughs and tells stories, and through her silent air, shows hints of kindness and fragility. Ukraine's eyes are not bright with jealousy- no matter the other females who seem to be more prosperous than she is- yet, from some whispers around his room- she has few who stick by her side.

There was a time where it was only he, his elder sister, and his younger sister. That time, both he and his young sister stuck to her side, doting to and fro her bosoms whenever they were allowed. It was a strange relationship- though who didn't have their own peculiarities?- but she had provided comfort in the past that was not available to any of them.

She kept them fastened together.

And thus gave him one more thought to clutch at.

* * *

Now, Ivan has not been neglectful of his sister's developments. Under the Union, he made sure to document carefully of his sister's progressions- her changing demographics, her swindling economy, and her supposedly- flat, mental declination. The country was displaying very serious troubles, that after the Union, did not clear up. He did not care much for the other States' well-being, but Ukraine's consistent state of fatigue and exertion, made him feel little of glee.

He did not know what to think.

* * *

 _He does not understand why after the Union, he was placed with many restraints, how after attempts of amends with those he had done towards- he was regarded with fear and given more restraints- how after the faces of his former friends shifted from mortality, to shame, to depreciation whenever he was in their faces, it was still Ukraine who screamed at him, cursed him with many threats, and allowed a trickling stream of water to flow from her face._

 _He remembers only a haze, but that haze still shone brightly in her eyes._

 _Ukraine was before him now. Standing across from him, her eyes glowing with callous certainty._

 _They would never be the same. For everything they had shared, every memory that held the other, there was a chasm of disparity, one that had separated them for years. He was never the best, never desired to be, all he wanted was the acceptance of those around him, the ones he cared for, that was enough for him. She was different though, she needed to protect those beneath her, and that included the entire world, she was less than all of them. Acceptance was for the weak, those who couldn't demand respect and loyalty with their skills. She knew it was for the best that she lowered herself to her siblings, and one day everyone else would too, it was only a matter of time for her._

 _He had a mildly- hot temper, one that made his actions rash and his apologies numerous, but not her. She held as much anger and hate in her heart as he did, but unlike him it wasn't directed inwardly at herself, it was for the world that stood against her, the people that would turn on her one day. She was cold and calculating, all her actions just a means to the end she desired, a precise decision that she was sure of. She didn't make mistakes._

 _He was marked a traitor, his face forever branded by his mistakes, his failure, while hers held the rigid beauty of a marble statue. Every glance and whisper of passersby held both awe and pity for them for they were both damaged, his was just easier to see. He wore his emotions plainly not trying to hide them any more than he could the scar that marred the left half of his face. But she hid behind her confidant smile, her natural grace fooling those around her with a false sense of superiority while inside she was slowly breaking._

 _He couldn't do anything by himself. His very essence seemed to be snuffed out when left on it's own, he needed others because he couldn't trust himself alone. He had made too many mistakes, hurt too many people to trust himself to make the right decisions on his own unlike her. She didn't need anyone, they would just get in the way. She spent her whole life striving to be good enough on her own, so that way when they left she would be ready. They had to be unnecessary otherwise when they were gone she would be missing something, she couldn't allow that. She had to be enough, she knew that all along, but he didn't. He leaned on those around him, they were the strength he didn't have in himself, and when he lost all hope they sustained him, but she was alone, she had always be alone._

 _He had had every reason to give up. Betraying the ones that he believed to care for, the ones that he thrown away, irregardless of circumstances that they had unknowingly found themselves in. He had left her- his sister- the girl that had waited three years for him, without blinking an eye for one that blamed him for everything wrong in her life and would never fully accept him. He gave up the life he was born into to for the one he was destined for. Nothing was ever easy for him, but that was his strength, he didn't give up. But not her, she had been groomed for success, born a worker. Everything, her skills, her position, her strength, it was all a carefully constructed cover to mask her inner doubts. Her life had been handed to her, she had nothing to fear because she was perfect, but that's why she could never rest. They would betray her because they were jealous, she couldn't trust them, any of them. She had every reason to keep going, but when the time came, she broke. The pressure, the doubt, the emptiness inside, it destroyed her in the end. She lost the last battle against her demons while he finally managed to win the war against his own._

 _He was shielded light, one that shone brightest when removed from another shadow. He was the one that would pave the path towards an era of peace alongside with the Free World, one without fear, and war, and hate. He had been in the darkness long enough to see that it would destroy him and the world he had traveled through if not dealt with, that's what made him light. He was able to see the good in people, the hope the world still had because he had been pulled out of the anger and hate that had consumed him for years. She was also light, one that was all-consuming, and demanded attention. It had both the ability to brighten the ones around it, highlight their strengths so that they were able to shine at full capacity, but also the power to destroy. She could destroy those around her if chose, she didn't need them. She lived in the the shadows of her own light until all that was left was darkness. She was alone, she hadn't been enough._

 _They had lived very different lives together, pulled apart by a world that demanded too much of them both. They're roles could of easily been reversed, but that wasn't what happened. He rose up, taking his rightful place on the throne surrounded by those he loved and who loved him in return. She hadn't allowed anyone to love her though, she wasn't so weak that she would grovel for such a useless human emotion from people that were inferior to herself. She would let herself be destroyed before that, at least then she would die knowing who she was. So when the time had come she ran, not looking back. She would stay herself, she would be alone...just like always._

 _They were each other's other half, forever intertwined. Mirroring the other in looks and lives until one of them became nothing but the distorted image reflecting in the water. They had never had the chance to be there for each other and they never would. They would never be the same._

 _And yet through this all, he did not bother to protect himself from his sister's attacks. Instead, he only focused on her eyes, that seemed to be glowing with only fervor as the minutes passed on._

 _He did not stop her relents, nor did he make any attempts to forcibly stop her breakdown in front of him._

 _He instead peered down at her, staring at her with his clouded violet eyes. He did not make a sound when he crouched down to the sobbing figure before him._

 _His sister looks up to him, blue to purple, eyes full of uncertainty. She did not back away from him, nor did she attempt to grab him. Her eyes instead, found themselves downcast, peering everywhere but from the large person before her._

 _And that is when he sees it, the look in her eyes. Her eyes are no longer grief-sicken, nor are there any more hints of hostility in them. But instead, they glow with a fervent glow, encasing him in with little resistance._

 _The flames flickered in her eyes, glowing pain etched across her face. She still sat there, watching it all fall to pieces. Her silent eyes moved as her body remained frozen. The image burned into her brain slowly, washing the tatters of memories she kept close to her heart._

 _The wind blew ashes around like black petals, with darkness outshining the originality they once displayed. As if moved by thoughts of their own, they flew towards her, stinging her face in several places. She made no reactions, her inner thoughts lost to the world. Had one seen her, she could have been assumed a statue, the humanity she once held so dear, gone. With no signs of consciousness she blended into the world that surrounded her._

 _The morbid night continued. The fire cackled with taunts, causing the wind to whisper in agony, with ashes falling as tears to the ground. Her surroundings crumbled away, and their ruin became black tears. The embers only glowed to reveal the tears scattered around the ground, shrinking under the heat until they dissolved into themselves. Once gone, the anguish could not be mended for happier purposes._

 _Her eyes clouded over, as if she could feel the human-like touches of the objects around her. These touches only sent her farther into the depths of her affliction once again. Each object attacked her until she could take no more; she collapsed to the ground, her body refusing to be stable when her mind was not._

 _Ivan remains there, sitting on charred ashes, others still stinging her exposed flesh. He makes no reaction to the burns on her body; his mind dissociated from the experiences he had just witnessed his sister's body go through. With her mind gone, logic was gone also. He listened to the cackles and saw before himself, a woman that did not match her matured appearance, but a little girl, reliving memories that had destroyed her, inside and out._

 _He walked away from his sister, the cackles grew until he lived nothing of the present, only living within the remains of his memories._

* * *

Now in his closed cellar, he reflects once more on these conflicting thoughts.

His sister's actions- driven through grievance and hate- were perhaps acted out within good reason reason.

It could even be considered as benevolent.

When she came to him, at first, he thought it was out of revenge. He thought that she wanted to gloat about her escape from her prison. How she was relieved at being released from her brother's warning glare. How, despite dissent-there were many acts of disobedience- she still prevailed in setting her people free.

But that was only for a short while.

For the first few months after the dissolution, many things have transpired throughout the world. Questionable at best, these happenings played a very important role in the the months forthcoming the Soviet era:

The end of the Cold War. A very dissatisfying conclusion to a climatic picture...

The rebirth of an encomium recession. How odd that it prevailed once more in a span of 7 decades?

A recipient of a post-war target for hate and distrust and fear. The honor that was once attributed to a glorious revolution, for a innovation for the ideal State, is now ridiculed with disgust, and branded with the everlasting title of a failed state.

The United State is now the leading power in the world... A true Breaking Point.

So now, he is once more mulling over his thoughts. Serenading his mind with fantastical imagery of the past, clever theories of a banal present, and optimistic, but cautious, planning for the future, Russia can forget about his current predicament.

By operating on a patient, but assertive track, the inspired nation would allow for himself to lead in a composed manner. He was particularly skilled there.

So, he would wait.

And wait.

And wait, for the right moment.

* * *

Nevertheless, the wait period provides for some other developments to peak his interest.

Once more, he doesn't know why she is here.

So, to break the silence that had seemed to grow like fire encasing wood around them; the silence growing progressively hotter, making it extremely uncomfortable, and the smoke of the silence growing thicker, each second ticking away and burning the both of them- her most of all- he asks five simple words in such a cold, flat, voice that scares him, and he's the crazy one in this twisted story, not her.

He's the broken one, not her.

Not her.

He's the broken one.

Not her, not her.

"Why are you here, Ukraine?" He asks, his voice hard, cold, flat, icy, dead, scarred, confused, and broken. It takes him a moment to registered that that is his voice, all of those painful emotions rolled up into one single sentence, one single question that is directed towards her. He internally swallows, but his eyes never leave hers.

The white walls and the white clothes and the white room and the small white bed and the small white desk and the small white chair that's being occupied by someone, by her, seem to taunt him. Everything taunts him nowadays.

His voice, his posture, everything about him is nothing like the boy she used to know, the boy that they all knew back before he snapped completely. Not a bit.

He snapped like a toothpick, easily, without even trying.

Everything about this new him had scared her at first, he could tell by the way she looked at him, her posture, how she wouldn't say anything for a very long time, so they just sat in pure and utter silence, neither of them daring to say a word. But then he saw that she grew used to it. Used to it. He scared her when she first visited him. He's scaring her.

He's scaring himself too.

Nothing is the same anymore since their once goofy, naïve and lonely brother named Ivan Braginsky, checked into this horribly depressing place himself. And it's true. He did that.

Despite Belarus's pleas, he went ahead and did it anyway, checked into the Mental Asylum/Sanitarium/whatever you want to call it, himself. Because he snapped.

Broke. Shattered. There was too much emotional pressure on him, and he snapped.

Snapped.

He's numb now, like the rest of them. Numb numb numb. He broke his family. First it was Belarus, then Ukraine, and finally Soviet Union. Soviet gave up trying to be strong after a month of him being in here. As opposing to him as Soviet claimed he was, he knew that Soviet was dissapointed that a once great empire, crumbling as the others before him.

But Ivan suspects that Soiviet would be back to torment as he had done numerous times before. His facade would never break, and he would always be ready to "assist" him when given the opportunity.

Ukraine was the worst of all. He did this to them, to her, his elder sister. He broke his siblings. Broke Belarus so much Ivan expects that both Ukraine and Belarus are probably going to be joining him in this place. But he did that to them.

Broke them like they were made out of glass.

 _Glass glass glass glass glass._

 _Glass glass glass. Glass_...

No no no. He didn't do that. Didn't break them. Didn't do it. Didn't break them.

Didn't break them, his siblings…

 _'But you did break them.'_

A voice said lingering in his thoughts. Even with the smooth sail of his voice, he knew who the words belonged to- Soviet. In an effort to hear thoughts distint from his own, he listened on.

 _'You did this to them, and you broke, and then they broke too. You are a monster, stupid boy, for doing this to them. You made them break. You them broke them broke them broke them… Broke them like they were twigs. In half. did this.'_

The voice had a good point, a satisfaction that he wouldn't give to the real Soviet's voice. But still he listened to the sauve, deceitful voice of the fallen Union. Although he wouldn't directly inform him of that private knowledge, Ivan knew that he had a point: _He broke them, them, his once happy family…_

"Why are you here, Ukraine?" He asks again, staring directly into her blue eyes. He can see the salty tears begin to swell up in her scarred blue eyes, and he blinks twice before reverting his gaze to the once brightly white colored wall.

Sure, there is still a little paint on the wall, but Ivan really wishes that they'd repaint the wall. Paint the wall red, maybe. That would be nicer than just stupid, chipping white paint.

No.

Red is the color of blood.

And seeing it pool out of a million holes in your body is not pretty.

 _Red is the color of blood._

 _Red red red blood blood blood._

 _Blood blood red red_.

He turns his gaze back to his elder sister and smiles a bit at her. He actually it's not a happy smile, or his signature goofy smile. It's not a sane smile.

It's the smile that says you don't know me anymore, you have no idea what I've become, what I did to push myself to the breaking point. You weren't there with me when it happened. When I just completely broke down. You did not see me break down in that moment, didn't see the aftermath of when I lost all hope on breathing one more second. You don't know me anymore, you don't know what it was like to hit the breaking point, and you never will.

The breaking point.

Silently thanking the nuacine for the word he was unable to come up, he pondered on it: _Breaking point. How could two simple words that were used as active presents, have a non-understandable meaning?_

Giving into the former nation's accustomed rhetoric, Ivan accepted his revelation:

He knows he's broken, too. No amount of denial could save that truth from them, his family, or himself. And him most of all, because he's already gone,already scarred.

He's lost, gone.

…It's sad to be a broken person in a messed up world, isn't it?

He hit his breaking point, hard, and now he's drowning…

Ivan has been in this Sanatarium for a little over three months now.

 _Months._ The word still on his lips. _Of what?_

Of being empty, being scarred, being numb.

Numb.

 _'Is it not an uncommon appearance to see people die? Within the last century, milllions have died. And even before, measurable numbers that we are unable to record. Why is it that death is celebrated as unfortunate, but life, one that can be easily be done away with in seconds, embraced so tightly?' Soviet pondered. 'Life and death- interchanging variables in what creation calls "life", happens at a constant rate, that is not merciful to humans and nations alike.'_

Breaking away from his thoughts on the answer he had just recieved, Ivan remembers a particular lament he had had with the once, cold empire:

* * *

 _'Everyone knows that seeing a person die is scary and life changing and scarring, but seeing millions die by a hailstorm of inhumane treatments perpetrated by our government, while you are all alone without anyone to contact and being so shocked that you can't even scream, is absolutely mind numbing.' Soviet mumbled to him._

 _Watching the tired crowds, Ivan talked with his comrade. Like many humans scrambling to find meaning in their lives, nations too, aided by their citizen's struggles. Soon, if they did not live up their works, Death would send an invitation to them. With a brooding expression, he turned away from their crafts._

 _'Death tries to find ways to give meaning to his work. One of the main things he does is collect stories of courageous humans.' Soviet had told him._

 _'Like of the struggling farmers and deceitful aristocrats?' He questioned, unsure._

 _'Yes. particularly interesting to him are those who had a fairly interesting life. Not determined by their courage, personality, or high self-achievement, Death finds a way to make Creation's life interesting.'_

 _Wondering for quite some time, Ivan accepts this statement. 'Retellings of these stories,' he had said, are made to prove to myself that you, and your existence, neither human or nation, are worth it. In other words, he looks for hope in the gathering, reading, and telling stories. This quest for meaning seems like a very human thing indeed.'_

 _'But you are not human,' the Empire had said to him. You are a nation with responsibilities, that make you a slave to the very humans you are chosen to represent. If I gave you my opinion on these humans, I will tell you that I'm haunted by them.'_

 _Ivan nodded, finally understanding the complex nation. Even as a nation, the most painful part of our job is seeing the survivors, the leftovers that you couldn't save. Like a jigsaw puzzle of realization, despair, and surprise, you could argue that even with the many differences that separated humans and nations, with their complicated emotions an passions, we still meet Death in the end._

 _In a way, we're all united with Death, and he's the thing that unites all of us. He's part of what makes us essentially human._

 _'We even knew them all by name; every last one of them. With Death, it is not shocking to him. Just like humans and nations alike, we are all subjected to His wrath.' He lamented a final time, but with a slight twinge of pity in his voice._

* * *

Frustrated by the mention of that memory, Russia growled, an action that had gone unnoticed by his sister. Though he had felt a small pain in his heart, he chose to express himself with anger.

 _'Why are you resurfacing into my thoughts? You already know of those memories, why choose to mention them again?_ ' Even with his disgust towards the once Slavic empire, he was intrigued that for once, Soviet wanted to pain him.

 _'Like I once said before Vanya, we are one of the same. Death has a way that makes even the coldest of nations, humans. I wish to pick apart you, Vanya.' Soviet admitted. 'You, in the most vunerable period, is when you have shown the most development. Even without a care that your soul has died, you still wish to ponder onto these pressing questions.'_

 _Ignoring the attempt to rifle him up, he pondered on that word -'Died_.' A word that was not foreign to him, made a way onto his tongue. Millions had died under his- _no Soviet's_ reign. A harsh sentencing courtesy of his government. _'Wait,' he thought, curiously getting the best of him. 'How does that make me any different from Death himself?_

 _'I suppose it is sound that you find this fact scary: You can still hurt many people in many different ways even without trying.' Soviet continued. 'Even though my reign is finished, the countries that were targeted, are still under emotional stiflings. Yes, they may recover their economy, and with increased efforts, their populations, it is still difficult to heal from the emotional abuse. I suppose you know that the best, Russia.'_

 _'He is right,'_ Ivan thought, interrupting his thoughts once more. He scowled, this would be on the few times he and Soviet agreed on a common perspective.

Even in an asylum, he can still hurt Ukraine and Belarus. If not physically, he winced, the stress that comes from realizing that their brother is an asylum, can damage them mentally and emotionally.

They are his siblings, after all. He knows what makes them tick, just like they know how to make him tick. But he's broken into a million five hundred and ten microscopic pieces. They don't want to break him even more. But for some strange reason, he wants to make them snap, his beautiful sisters. He wants to make them snap, like him. Just like they can see him now, see the aftermath of his break down. With a small flare of surprise, Ivan realizes that he can make Ukraine and Belarus snap in an instant, if they haven't already.

 _'A selfish outlook Vanya. Even with our striking differences, perhaps we are one and the same?' With that supposed agreement, Soviet left his mind- a relief that Ivan should have relished. But with the radical, although persuasive empire, Ivan wishes that another outlook similar to his own, would accompany him with his ever-changing thoughts._

Snapping back to his situation, he thinks back onto the situation he is in now.

He doesn't have enough mental energy to even think about anything anymore. He can't remember what happiness feels like. He can't feel any pleasant emotion anymore.

He is just completely numb now. Completely. He can't feel anything.

Not a shred of happiness, or any emotion for that matter, except for anger and pain, and that constant feeling of being purely numb.

That constant feeling of being numb, powerless, and helpless to do anything.

He is just mentally numb.

Numb.

This, he realizes with a jolt of surprise, is what hitting your breaking point is.

Switching from his pressing thoughts, he does not hear his sister's reply.

"I- I… I'm here to see you again, Ivan." She says gently, so softly that he can barely hear, but loud enough that her voice brings him out of his thoughts. _Strange, he thought. I could have sworn that she had fallen asleep._

She blinked sadly, and then she folds he hands in her lap. She doesn't have any jewelry or makeup on, but Ivan thinks she looks pretty. Her hair is pretty too. Combed. It smells nice, like vanilla. She looks very pretty today. She looks nice.

"I… I wanted to see you again."

She wanted to see him. Again.

Again.

Finally taking distancing himself from his rapid thoughts, he laughs internally, although is his face remains hard and clear of any emotion on the outside, and his face, once full of thought, looks distinct and full of depressed anger.

He frowns a bit as well.

See him? See _him_! No. No. Doesn't she get it? Doesn't his elder sister see what is going on? What is happening to him? Does she even see what he wants more than anything right now, what he desires? No, she doesn't get it at all. No no no.

There is absolutely _nothing_ left to see of him! There isn't anything to try and save, because it's all broken, all gone. There is _nothing_ left of Ivan Branginsky! And there NEVER will be! Not after what he saw happen. Not after the incident with his citizens, or the memory of Soviet. He understands that he had reached his breaking point.

He doesn't think he'll leave this depressing place anytime soon. Oh no. No. Never. God knows that he won't leave this place in a few days. And no, he won't be leaving in a week, not a few weeks, not in a few months, not even in a few years. Heck, he might as well just stay here for the rest of his life and rot in his small white room, sitting on a small white bed, wearing his extra extra large adult sized, clean white cotton shoes, sitting on his small white bed and running his fingers throught the material of his shirt.

Don't they know that he just wants to be left alone? Just _leave him alone_!

Leave him alone…

No no no please just leave him alone in his small white room on his small white bed dressed in his white cotton clothes left alone with his blackened thoughts, the only thing that scared him right now: His thoughts.

He wants to be left alone, how hard is that to understand?

"You are here to see me." He repeats slowly, blinking as if going into a dream or coming out of one. He wishes this were a dream sometimes.

But that's all they are.

Dreams. Illusions. Pain. Memories. Shattered dreams. Bad bad bad, shattered dreams. And the boy with the broken soul is real, he is real.

He wants to open his eyes and wake up from this nightmare, but it's not a nightmare, not just a dream. It's reality. His reality.

He is actually inside this small white room on his small white bed wearing his plain patternless crisp white clothes. Staring at the wall.

Talking to her, her, her.

Ukraine.

Ukraine, his sister.

He shakes his head, and his thoughts clear, and his nose twitches a bit as he says the words that hurt both of them:

"You," he sees with icy cold, numbing awareness that he points to his sister with his tan thumb that looks way too pale in his smale white room that is bare save for anything but a bed, a desk, a bathroom, a light, a chair that's being occupied by her, and him sitting on his small white bed, staring at her intensely with broken lavender eyes, and a boy that is way past trying to be saved because he's given up on life, on trying to breathe even one more second, "are here," his lips twist up into a sadistic smile that hurts his face a bit, his dark eyes gleaming with mentally insane sickness and pure pain- pure agony- at the same time, "to see," he jabs his thumb at his chest, "me."

His voice breaks like glass, (glass, glass, darling,) obviously there for Ukraine to hear, and he internally cringes at how weak he must sound to her right now, how pathetic.

But he had hit his breaking point at a rapid pace, faster than he ever expected, so he knows that he shouldn't care about how scarred he sounds right now. Why should he? He's just a husk of a man, a shell of a broken person. He's an example of what is left after a person when he or she breaks down with tears running down his or her face.

He blinks slowly, lazily. Oh, dear. He's never getting out of this place, is he?

"Yes, I'm here to see you, Ivan." She says calmly, too calmly, too calmly for a person whose brother is locked up in this crazy nuthouse.

He laughs bitterly on the inside. How can she be so calm, keep her cool, at a time like this? It makes no sense, and he wants to ask whywhy why she isn't breaking down. Why why why does the Earth goes round and why why why is the Sun is hot and why why why she's here to visit him and he can tell that she wants to know why why why he's gone off the handle and he wants to know why why why does he deserve to live- he just wants to die, die, die- but Ivan decided a long time ago to stop asking questions, which seems a bit hypocritical at the moment.

Because he'll never get answers. He never did. Never does. Never will.

He has the sudden urge to throw a pillow at her like he used to do before he admitted himself into this crazy place, into the Sanatarium, but he doesn't dare even lift a single finger, move a fraction of an inch. He doesn't move, but instead he just stares at the wall and doesn't think about hitting Ukraine with his pillow and hitting her with the pillow in the face. He thinks that him throwing a pillow at her, his elder sister, could be taken the wrong way, and Ukraine might freak out or something, and then he'd be locked up even worse than he is now. He doesn't want that to happen, so he goes with the alternative answer, the backup choice.

So instead he answers in a cold voice that makes ice prick at his heart and encase it like a cold fist: "I know you are Ukraine," and falls silent again, unable to think of anything to say. There's so much to say, but he doesn't know how to say it. The words burn in his throat and suffocate him, but he can't open his mouth. It's like his mouth is glued shut, cutting of the words that are on the very tip of his tongue, words that he desperately wants to say, but he doesn't know how to say the words.

So instead he stays silent.

To busy himself and to try and avoid his sister's hurt blue eyes, he plays with his cotton shirt at the hem, running his fingers up and down continuously in the white shirt, busying himself by looking at the patternless clean cloth, still fiddling with the hem of the plain white shirt that's covering his body generously, and then staring at the white walls and the white pillow that is propping up his back and his white, in desperate need of a paint-job like right now walls, the white room, bare of anything. They should put something up. A poster. Heck, a piece of tape would suffice.

Anything, really. Anything.

The only other thing in the room is a closed, painted white door that connects to his room, and a window with bars and " _nationalistic"_ signal interrupters and a thick padlock on the chain-link bars as an extra safety measure.

There is also that aforementioned door. The door, the white painted door, leads to the small white tile bathroom. Just a toilet and a sink. The mirror where he had a conversation with Soviet before, lay dirtied and full of broken shards. So he thinks he smells pretty bad, but they let him take a shower once every other day. He took a shower this morning. It was nice. The water was hot, pleasant- a moment that was surely sought after in the Union.

For a moment, a few minutes, four minutes, he felt okay. But then he realized what he was trying to get away from, why he admitted himself into this horribly depressing Sanatarium, and then he would become upset as he pulled on his pattern less plain white clothes onto his body after he dried off completely and then he would trudge very slowly to his small white room- escorted by a guard within prison- and sit down on his small white bed and sit there and be silent.

In addition to his room, there are _"nationalistic"_ signal interrupters everywhere. An unusal way to _"heal him"_ from his fallen state.

Sometimes he has to get up to use the bathroom, like all humans do. The mirror isn't on the wall. There never was one, and there never will be. He is glad that there isn't a mirror on the wall. He is glad because he can't see himself after he hit the breaking point. He isn't sure he wants to see himself after he completely broke down, hit the breaking point.

He doesn't want to see a broken boy staring back at him in the mirror.

He's pretty sure that there isn't a mirror for a reason. If someone were to punch out the glass, they'd get hurt. They person would probably bleed and cut a vein or something. So there is no mirror.

 _'But I could have sworn that I used a mirror earlier._ ' It must've been an illusion from my mind. _'Maybe all of this,_ ' his eyes scanned the room, _'is of a accomplished trickster. Perhaps Soviet wasn't real- maybe I had done it all along._ '

But as he glances from spots in the room to the person standing before him, he sadly understands that the situation was real- that he really was insane.

Ivan forces himself to not meet his baby sister's eyes. He will busy himself by looking at anything else, any other pattern, but there are none, not on the walls, not on his shirt or on his long white pants that were both provided to him when he first came into this really depressing Sanatarium. Anything but her.

Anything but his elder sister's _real_ , tear-filled blue eyes.

Even if he imagined everything, he could not imagine the surrealistic scene playing before him. Quietly, he watches.

 _Drip, drip_ , go her tears.

So when she speaks again, he says nothing to her. He just stares at the translucent drops sliding down her face.

"Ivan," she says after a moment, her voice breaking, "did you hit your-"

"Hit my breaking point?" He asks in a dead voice, and when she nods, he blinks, taking a deep breath and says: "Ukraine, you don't understand." He whispers to her, and she frowns.

"Don't understand what?" She asks, puzzled by his words.

He stares at his elder sister directly now. "What it's like to hit your breaking point."

"No," she whispers, tears gathering in her eyes, "I don't think I would know."

"No." He scoffs, "No." He repeats, shaking his head. "Poor, poor little Ukraine. Of course, you wouldn't know what it's like. Of course, you wouldn't."

"Then help me understand, Ivan." She pleads, and he sighs.

"I hit my breaking point. You will too, Ukraine. You will too. It's only a matter of time before you break like I did, before you end up in here, in here, in this crazy place. You might as well be sitting on a small white bed in plain white clothes in a small white room with four walls and a connecting room that leads to the bathroom with no mirror, in this Sanatarium, next to me. Because sometimes we all reach our breaking points, some faster than others. Some end up fine, some end up damaged beyond repair, and some shatter completely." He doesn't understand _how_ was able to formulate that complex of his a sentence from his thoughts. Perhaps, he has to thank Soviet for that. _'But for now,' he said licking his lips, 'I have other matters to attend to.'_

She begins crying, the tears rolling down her face and onto the floor. He doesn't get up from his small white bed to comfort her.

 _Drip, drip._

She sobs, burying her tear stained face into her slightly trembling hands. He does not comfort her, does not say anything all. He just silently watches her cry, watches her break down. He grows just a bit more numb, a bit more numb than usual as he watches the tears plop onto the cement floor of his small white room, watches her shoulders heave and quake, hears the whimpers and the sobs escape her lips.

 _Drip, drip._

 _Drip drip_ , go her tears, her tears falling down in streams of two down her face like salty rain falling from a black sky with dark clouds rolling across a bleak, scary dark sky. _Drip drip._

 _Drip drip,_ go her tears again and again and again, _drip drip._

 _Drip drip, drip, drip, drip drip. Drip drip. Drip. Drip drip_.

She yells at him suddenly, wiping her tears away from her face. He pretends like he doesn't hear her yelling at him. He knows that she's paralyzed by grief and anger, so he pretends like he doesn't hear her yell at him. _A human-like response. 'Perhaps nations and humans are similar than I thought.'_

 _Drip, drip, drip_. Faster now, go her tears, drip drip drip, go her tears, go her salty warm tears as they run down her tan pretty face like a river flowing very quickly at dizzying speeds, never slowing or stopping for a minute. If anything, he thinks the tears go down her face faster than before. _Drip drip drip drip_ drip.

He laughs loudly, madly, insanely at her when she talks about him getting better through her tears and a scared, broken voice. He laughed insanely at her because she simply does not even begin to understand. Oh no, Ukraine doesn't understand anything. She doesn't know what it's like to shatter. She doesn't understand that he will never get better. She doesn't know anything about this new him, the one that wakes up screaming from nightmares and crying and begging for God to take him to a better place. Something better than where he is right now.

 _Drip, drip, drip_ , scream the tears going down her face. _Drip, drip, drip._

She stands up from her chair and says goodbye to him, and she tells him in a soft voice that she loves him and that she will be back soon before she leaves his room, shutting the door behind her. He doesn't call her or try to open the door. The door is locked. It always is, unless you have a key to enter the room. Like she did, like Ukraine did.

He can almost see the tears go drip drip drip as she walks down the hall. He can hear her sobs, and they seem so impossibly loud. He can hear the faint _drip, drip drip_ of her tears again.

He stares at the white wall and wonders why-why why does he deserve to live, he just wants to die.

 _Drip, drip, drip, drip drip, drip drip drip,_ go the tears down his face now.

 _Drip drip drip drip drip drip drip,_ screams his own hot and salty tears.

 _Drip, drip,_ go his tears, so impossibly fast now that he has a headache.

 _drip drip drip drip drip drip drip_

Thinking thoughtfully on the answer he had just received in a strange way, Ivan finally gives his own interpretation of a _'breaking point':_

 _'Everyone knows that seeing a person die is scary and life changing and scarring, but seeing yourself die by a hailstorm of inhumane treatments perpetruated by our government, society , and everyday life while you are all alone without anyone to contact and being so shocked that you can't even scream, is absolutely mind even know every last detail- them all by name; every last one of them. With humans and nations alike, we all face our breaking points.' He lamented._

And he cries for the first time in months, finally breaking down.

 _END_

* * *

 **Breaking Point... Such an emotional chapter!**

 **After finally getting a view on Ivan and Soviet Union, we finally get to the intermediate family-The Slavic Siblings!**

 **With a new chapter dedicated to the eldest Slavic- Ukraine, I wanted to get a little more personal with our protagonist.**

 **For another take on Russia's Situation, come check out A Condition of Love, starring Lithuania and Belarus!**

 **Some Notes:**

 **-Humans and Nations are more similar than thought. Ivan was confused on this manner, but he finally understands in the end.**

 **I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and you may or may not need tissues at the end. This is pure angst. You might cry, you might not. Just grab some tissues in case you need them.**

 **Also, I apologize in advance if I got anything wrong about Sanitariums/Mental Asylums.**

 **I meant to post this yesterday because I finished it yesterday and stuff, but something is wrong with my account, so I had to put this up on my computer and stuff like that, but I digress.**

 **Anyway, I hope you have a good Evening!**

 **-Enchanting Grace.**


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